


Black Magic

by FallenGabriella



Series: Infection [4]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Nicholai has Issues, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: She contemplates the wolf in her bed.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/??? ????
Series: Infection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709857
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Black Magic

He called her 'колдунья'. She recorded him saying it once, playing it back to a translator after completing a job. She smiled when he told her what it meant.

It did make her wonder... what had she done to earn it?

There were men who whispered about her, men who watched her, men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. Some worshipped her, a few desired and despised in equal measure, but there was always that one - looking at her like he wanted to save her. Some part of her appreciated his tenacity. Another wanted to keep their game going. She wondered how long it would take him to get the hint...

She wasn't the type of woman a man should spend his life waiting on.

She knew her nature, knew the twists and turns laid out before her. She was fine with that. In fact, she sort of reveled in it. The uncharted course, no narrow straits, or simple truths. She lived for the chaos, and it embraced her, sweeter than any lover... even if it wasn't as warm as the beast in her bed. Those became fewer as the years wore on. Espionage was better without all the cards on the table.

But even she knew a fib when she heard one. Raccoon City had left its marks on all of them. _In_ some of them, in her case. Her right shoulder still ached some days. She knew his left did too, sometimes. He winced when he thought no one saw, just little crinkles at the corners of his lips, and around his nose. She liked to smile, to laugh when she saw them. He always tossed a glare in her direction, his momentary pain turning to anger.

His snarl looked like his smile. All teeth and no humor. Wolfish.

She raised her hands, taking a moment to watch her elbows bend, see the water drip and curve from the ends of her fingers to her wrists. There were bruises, there always were, rippling over the delicate flesh of her arms. She felt her lips twitch, huffing in amusement as she scrubbed at her hair carelessly. Her bangs were a bit tacky, sticking to her brow, flicking out awkwardly at her temples. She cradled her nape, carding out the jagged strands she could feel, still laden with sweat.

Always rough. Always furious.

She was glad, in a way. He made her heart pound. Her dark eyes slid across the cerulean and ruby tiles that formed a dizzying mosaic, spiraling here and falling in desperate jagged strands. A mandala that glowed within the night, which glided in from the opening across the way. The moonlight rose, forming a new sky from the vaulted ceiling above her, with glinting, silver stars that dripped like diamonds into her hair. They were just as cold.

She exited the shower, striding over to the wall to collect a long, silk wrap. Ivory. She could have laughed, maybe she should have. She twisted it around herself, one hand holding it just below the wound that marred her right shoulder. It trailed after her, hissing across the cobblestone beneath her as she walked through the breezeway. The shadows stretched longer, the pillars making steadfast sentinels on either side of her. The roses were blooming. Their faces peered out, as white as the cloth that barely covered her, the pale expanse of her exposed legs and thighs rivaling their beauty. They watched her, shaking in the stiff wind, cool within the dunes that lie beyond. Would they tell the truth to their crimson cousins? How she, the traitorous колдунья, wore their shade? She could hear them laughing from here, deep in the heart of France, with their rouge petals as soft as lips.

She'd always looked better in red.

She climbed the few steps that separated the veranda of her room from the garden, never pausing to admire the carved stone or beautiful ornaments. The tapestries and carpets, hand crafted and embroidered, faded into nothing more but noise as pure as snow. Gold had no use to her. Silver awaited in her bed.

Her shift lifted as she crossed the doorway, her hand releasing the silk without a care. It waved behind her, a living thing, smooth and bright against the light of the moon. It drifted, liquid and slow, fluttering as a butterfly did to drape itself across the floor. Useless. Unneccessary. She didn't feel like sacrificing it to the wolf who watched her.

She didn't usually do this. Not on a job, anyway. But he was angry, a wounded, snarling thing. She had taken pity on him, sliding her fingers through his rust matted fur. She had recieved no mercy for her kindness, and she would have it no other way. His fangs punctured her neck, her breasts, and thighs. He ripped her moans and cries from her throat, offering no reprieve, even when she believed she had reached her end. There was a relief in surrender, she had found, into being stripped of any other recourse.

She sat on the edge of the bed, watching him under dark lashes. He stared back, unflinching, but the wrath of a few hours earlier had vanished. She reached forward, casually dragging her fingers across the slow rise and fall of his stomach, his abs deep and hard. They didn't tremble at her passing, as with so many others, there was no wild throb of his heart against his chest. He said nothing, his gaze unwavering as she traced the lines to his sternum.

"Thinking of her?" Dangerous. The knife's edge appeared in his irises, flashing fast and leaving just as soon as it had arced out. He grabbed her wrist, tearing her from her position, dragging her over his body. He pinned her beneath him, his top lip peeling back. His smile wrinkled the edges of his pale orbs, sinking deeper into the darkness.

"Why would I?" Ada smiled. A small, indulgent thing.

"You wouldn't be here if you weren't."

**Author's Note:**

> Translation (I used Google like a cheater):
> 
> "колдунья." = "Witch".
> 
> ×××
> 
> Okay, so.......
> 
> Here's a thing.
> 
> I _intended_ for this to be Ada x Nicholai, just, straight up. As in, they're in a relationship. Maybe even in love.
> 
> That, obviously, didn't go as planned. But sort of did? I don't know.
> 
> You see, Ada even says: "she didn't usually do this." They're obviously somewhere in the middle east, probably at some lavish palace, and they weren't initially there together either. Nicholai just showed up, out of the blue. There's also an implication they met at some point in Raccoon City and as we know, Nicholai has a penchant for beautiful, dangerous women.
> 
> And before everyone blows up on me: I don't ship Leon x Ada. I don't. To me, Leon doesn't have it in him to love Ada as she is. This is sort of a recurring thing with them: she shows up. He chases after her. There also feels - to me - like there's just so much of her that he isn't capable of handling. She has her own goal, her own agenda, and she isn't about to slow down for him to keep up. Leon can go after her all he wants, he'd probably follow her to the ends of the earth, but in my opinion, that isn't what Ada wants/needs. What she needs: is space. She needs someone who is capable of stepping back, letting her do whatever the hell it is she's doing (whether if is of questionable morals or not), and then be ready for her to inevitably leave without wishing they could "save" her. Or... whatever Leon wants with Ada. To ask her out? Yeah, that's not happening.
> 
> Yes, in this circumstance, Nicholai sought her out, but something tells me this isn't usual for either of them. This is an occurrence that isn't likely to transpire again... or maybe it will. Ada has allowed it once, she might again, and it's not as if its directly interfering with her work. Nicholai wouldn't go that far. Leon probably would.
> 
> Instead of my intent though, I got an angsty pile of garbage I wasn't even sure I wanted to post. And yet here we are.
> 
> It sort of makes me laugh though, that they both got scars in relatively the same locations, just... opposite. And for completely different reasons. Nicholai got shot following his destroying the vaccine, which could have saved Raccoon City. Ada was shot when she tried to get a sample of the G-virus, the very thing that arguably damned the same city. She got hit on the right side, and he on the left. Fitting, I find.


End file.
